Burn Me Deadly: An Eddie LaCrosse Novel (19 page)

She blatantly pressed her hand to my crotch. “Are you sure?” she giggled.

“Hey, sweetie, Eddie doesn’t play games,” Billy said. He pulled the girl away and firmly but gently pushed her into the welcoming arms of one of the boys. The girl did not seem to miss me.

Then Billy guided me across the floor into his office. It was neat, roomy, and reminded me of my own. I wondered what business a tavern owner like Billy needed it for. He offered me a drink from one of the expensive bottles on his desk. “So what can a lowly bartender do for you?” he asked.

I took the drink and tossed it down. It was smoother than the Biwabik infantry. “I’m looking for some VIPs I know are in town. Wondered if you’d seen them.”

He sat on the edge of his desk. “And who might that be?”

“Gordon Marantz.”

He nodded, appreciating the scale of the name. “That’s a VVIP in my line of work.”

“Mine, too.”

“Why do you want to find him?”

I smiled. “Billy, if I told you that, I’d have to slice out your tongue to keep you quiet about it.”

He shrugged and smiled. “Secrets aren’t my specialty.”

“But gossip is.”

“True. Everyone talks to their bartender. Even you, from what I hear.”

I didn’t take the bait. “Can you help me?”

“Well, I do owe you for making sure my flatbread supplier didn’t get muscled out by that bakery syndicate. Even though you weren’t working for me on that, I got the benefits of it. So I
would
help you if I could.” He spread his hands in a shrug. “But I haven’t seen Gordon Marantz in probably two years. If he’s in town, he hasn’t come in here.”

Many times my job came down to knowing who to trust. Billy had never lied to me, or intentionally misled me. He was slippery, but that wasn’t the same as dishonest. So I believed him.

“Somebody was asking about you, though,” he added. “Actually two somebodies.”

“Who?”

“A Captain Argoset from Sevlow. He was very specific: Wanted to know if you ever took work as killer for hire. And if you’d be willing to kill a woman.”

“Who else?”

“An old guy with big gloves on.
He
wanted to know if you’d been seen with a young blond girl.” He raised his eyebrows to imply his meaning.

“What did you tell them?”

Billy smiled. “Not a thing. I sent them both to Angelina’s. Told them you always took your business there, and seldom darkened my door.”

“I
do
have my office there.”

“Of course. And that’s fine. But . . .” He paused and chewed his lip as he thought. When he spoke again, he was more serious than I’d ever seen him. “I’m not going to say anything bad about Angie, Eddie. Really. Just . . . you’re a decent, straight-up guy. I try to be the same. Angie has different priorities.”

“Like what?”

His grin returned. “Hey, you’re the sword jockey, Eddie. You figure it out.”

That mystery, if mystery it was, would have to wait. I left Long Billy’s and resumed poking through town, seeking any sign of the gangster and old Tempcott.

Outside the Wheelspinner, one of the gambling houses where you might occasionally actually win, I saw the dark-skinned scribe again. He leaned against the wall and wrote on his vellum until he apparently made an error. With a curse I couldn’t hear over the crowd, he tore it from the pad in disgust and threw it to the street.

I stepped beneath the Wheelspinner’s awning and bent as if something was wrong with my boots. He began writing again, completed his notes and looked around at the crowded street, pondering his next move. Then he stepped into the crowd and vanished.

As soon as he was out of sight I scooped up his discarded note, getting it just before a horse trampled it into the mud. I held it so light from a hanging lantern shone on it.

Nothing in the sky. No strange sounds. No mention of Lam—

That’s where he stopped. Was he misspelling “Lumina”? No way to know without asking, and I didn’t have time for that. I crumpled the note and threw it back into the street. I checked every other possible place I could think of for my quarry until, at last, only one was left: Angelina’s. Lucky me.

I couldn’t just march in and look around, though. I was in disguise, sort of, and while Angelina could be trusted to keep her mouth shut, Callie would certainly give me away with a shout of surprise or a startled, “Mr. LaCrosse, your hair!” Not to mention I’d likely encounter lots of other people I knew. The hitching post was full, and as I approached a pair of drunken tinkers staggered out in mid-song. I caught the door with my fingertips as it swung closed, and risked a look inside.

The place was crowded, but not mobbed. Callie moved among the tables and Angelina was behind the bar. The smell was heavenly, and reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I saw no sign of Liz, Gary or any other familiar faces. But at the far end of the room, beside the booth known as “the hole” because its position hid its occupants from sight, Tempcott’s cane leaned against the wall. In the next booth sat three tough-looking men, bodyguards nursing their cups of ale and constantly scanning the crowd.

I let the door close and sighed. Any other establishment in town and I could’ve just sauntered nonchalantly in, taken a seat nearby and eavesdropped, but not here. So I had to be creative.

I went to the rear of the building and entered the kitchen where Rudy the cook nursed his concoctions. Rudy was short, wiry, and never seemed to gain any weight despite working around food. I was taught never to trust a skinny chef, but Rudy had a way with beef that would make a cow proud to be a steak. He looked up and was about to say something when I put my finger to my lips with one hand and held up a silver coin with the other. He took the money at the same time he recognized me, frowning at my new haircut and shave. I took a clean bowl from the rack and ladled some eel soup into it, then tore off a fist-sized chunk of bread. I stood in the shadows by the door and ate with no thought for etiquette until Angelina came back to get some more tankards.

“The hell?” she exclaimed softly when she saw me. “What happened to you?”

“I’m in disguise,” I said through a mouthful of eel-flavored bread. “Do you know who’s sitting out in the hole?”

“Yeah, I know. Why?”

“The string I’m pulling leads to him.”

“Then you better just let it go.”

“Sound advice. But I need to know who he’s talking to and what about.”

She shook her head. “Can’t be done. His men are at the only table close enough.”

“
You
could do it. Clean a table nearby, take a little too long getting an order.”

She stared at me for what felt like one of the longest moments in my life. “That’s Gordon Marantz,” she said at last.

“I know.”

“He’s been known to kill tavern owners over a bad bowl of soup.”

“That’s just one of those stories.”

“People don’t laugh when they hear it.”

“And it’d never happen here,” Rudy interjected.

“You’ll plug those ears if you know what’s smart,” Angelina barked at him. To me she said more calmly, “I’m sorry, Eddie, it’s too big a chance.”

“I understand, but this is important,” I said as I put the soup and bread aside. “One of the knots on that string I’m tugging is Hank Pinster.”

She scowled, annoyed by being put in this spot. I didn’t blame her. Suddenly Callie came into the kitchen, leaned against the wall and, with no warning or explanation, burst into sobs.

Angelina rolled her eyes and stomped over to her. I discreetly slid behind a stack of wooden lettuce boxes. “For
fuck’s sake
, Callie!” Angelina said, hands on her hips. “He was a minstrel; they’re
like that
! You can’t trust them, and you can’t depend on them!”

The girl could barely get words out in response. “He . . . said . . . he loved . . . me. . . .”

Angelina, with no warning, slapped the girl hard. Her hair snapped around over her face, and her sobs shut off like a wine cask spigot. Callie took a deep breath, brushed her hair aside and said quite calmly, “Thanks. That should hold me for a while.”

“That’s the fifth time tonight, Callie. People are going to think I beat you.”

“It’s the only way to get me out of it once it starts,” she said. She fanned her cheek with her hand. “No word from him, then?”

“No, sweetie, no word,” Angelina said sadly.

Callie kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks. I’ll get back to work.” She left the kitchen with the normal bounce in her step. Angelina lightly slammed her forehead against the wall.

“Her boyfriend run off?” I asked when Angelina rejoined me.

“Of course he did. He got what he wanted, which was a few days’ work and a few nights’ fun,” Angelina said wearily. “He could’ve been honest with her, though. She bought his whole line.”

“Good thing she has you,” I said wryly.

“Yeah, big sister to the goddam universe. Now back to your problem. I get most of my rum and ale indirectly from Gordon Marantz, and I pay reasonable protection money directly to him, so I’m not risking my ass, in any sense, by attracting his ire. So don’t even try to talk me into that again.”

She fell silent. “But?” I prompted.

“But if you want to risk
your
danglies, follow me.”

She picked up an old bar stool left in the kitchen and led me into a storeroom packed floor-to-ceiling with plates, jugs and tankards. She pointed up. Directly over us was the floor of my office, but the dining room itself had nothing above it. “There’s a crawl space up there, over the top of this wall. It leads out between the roof and the ceiling over the whole dining room. It’s not really an attic, and if you slip off the rafters you’ll fall right through. But you can work your way down over his booth. I don’t know if you’ll be able to hear anything once you get there, but it’s the best I can do.”

I nodded, unbuckled my scabbard and placed my sword behind a shelf of plates. I put the wobbly bar stool as solidly as I could against the wall and started to climb onto it. Angelina put her hand on my arm.

“Okay, look,” she said, unable to meet my eyes. “There’s, ah . . . some other stuff up there, too. I need your word that you’ll never mention it.” She looked at me with a mixture of guilt and defiance.

I knew Angelina wasn’t completely legit, so this didn’t surprise me. “Sure,” I said without hesitation.

“Thanks. Have fun.” She went back through the kitchen to the main room. Rudy kept his attention resolutely on his cooking fire.

I climbed onto the stool. With a grunt I pulled myself up over the top of the wall. Ahead light from the main room’s lamps shone up through gaps and cracks in the woven ceiling panels, illuminating the narrow space I had to negotiate. And she wasn’t kidding: the beams were ragged and splintery, while the space above them barely let me raise up on my elbows. It smelled like dust and old grease.

I proceeded like an arthritic viper down one of the beams, brushing cobwebs aside as I inched forward. Three long, solid supports ran the length of the room, crossed by four smaller ones. A platform had been built over one of these squares, and it was stacked with small, identical wooden boxes. A well-fed rat sat atop one of them cleaning his front paws. A silverfish scurried over my fingers.

I couldn’t resist a peek inside; after all, I’d already given my word I wouldn’t talk about it. I lifted the closest box’s lid, and found nothing but old, dried beans. When I stuck my fingers beneath them, though, I felt the unmistakable shapes of coins. I pulled one out and held it in a shaft of light. It bore the image not of our own King Archibald, but of revered Queen Malena from Natabetia. Neither Muscodia nor any of the nations around us would honor these, so to be useful they’d have to be melted down and sold for their raw gold. The kitchen’s hearth fire got plenty hot enough to do that, I bet.

I put the coin back beneath the beans. I knew Angelina came from somewhere far away, and that she couldn’t operate the tavern on what she actually made from it. There were at least a dozen boxes in this stack, and since the gold in that one coin could stock the place for three months, she had no immediate money worries. And yet she constantly nagged people about their overdue bar tabs.

I resumed my progress. Through the ragged gaps, I looked down on tabletops and the heads of diners, and got a view down Callie’s cleavage that many men would’ve paid dearly for. I reached a point where two beams crossed, wriggled my way onto the other one and followed it to the edge. Here I struck a nest of small, harmless spiders and had to close my eyes and mouth to keep them out. My foot slipped from the beam and cracked the woven, clay-daubed ceiling, but my toe didn’t poke all the way through and no one below noticed the sudden shower of dust. I squirmed forward until at last I was above the booth where Marantz sat with Tempcott.

A crack let me see down onto the table, although my angle hid their faces. Marantz clutched a tankard beside a plate picked clean of food, while Tempcott’s dinner remained mostly untouched. I had to concentrate to pick their voices out of the general din. Luckily Tempcott’s was distinctive and harsh, and as usual he was upset.

“. . . waiting too long for this to have it yanked out from under me!” He pointed his fork at Marantz. “You
will
live up to your agreement.”

Marantz’s voice was even, steady, the voice of a man who tried to never sound worried. “Relax, will you? So he’s a little late. He had to go up into the hills, after all. We wait, have a little dinner, check out the local girls.”

“I have no interest in the girls,” Tempcott said with contempt. “And this tavern’s poor excuse for food makes me want to retch. I should never have agreed to this excursion. My faithful believe I’m still in the temple, not out in the world with these . . .” He gestured at the room and spat the last word. “
People
. You’ve made me into a liar and a hypocrite, just like you.”

Marantz took a drink, belched and said, “You’re not a very pleasant man, did you know that? I don’t like getting up early, but I think I’ll leave at first light tomorrow just so I don’t have to spend any more time with you.”